“Do you mean that Colonel Petrosch....”
“Yes. He’s a dreadful scoundrel to guess things.”
“Do you know that I am a beggar and an exile?”
“Yes, indeed. He told me all about it; and I was awfully glad. There’s another country over seas which will be glad to adopt you. It’s a free country, too; with a home in it where we shan’t be quite beggars.”
“Bourgwan! I told you it was impossible.”
“And I told you that we’re forgetting how to spell that word in the States; although I came near learning it in Belgrade.”
“But I—I have nothing.”
“Oh yes, you have. You can draw a bill on the bank of my affection and I’ll honour it right now—to any amount.”
“You make a jest of it,” she said, now between laughter and tears.
“Well, don’t you think they made things serious enough for us in Belgrade? What you’ve got to do is just to forget all that, and to laugh and be glad—if you are glad; and then to—well, there is something else to do;” and I looked grave.